[CHAPTER III.]
THE VILLAGE SCHOOL.
When Johannes left Ernestine, he turned his steps towards the village. He was as if inspired by the consciousness that his was a part to play that falls to the lot of few men in this world,--to promote his own happiness in watching over and caring for the happiness of another. He walked on with the firm, elastic tread that belongs to a strong man in the bloom of youth, and wherever his glance fell it scattered seeds of the kindliness which was reflected in the smile that greeted him upon every face that he met. He took his way towards a little vine-clad cottage in which dwelt the patriarch of the place,--the village schoolmaster. Before the door stood Hilsborn's vehicle, while a fat old mastiff was barking incessantly at the horse, who pawed impatiently, and never seemed to perceive that the dog was evidently only fulfilling an irksome duty, and was not actuated by the slightest feeling of hostility. Johannes stroked, in passing, his broad, bristling back, a caress not unkindly received, and then entered the house, whose hospitable roof was so low that he was obliged to stoop as he crossed the threshold, lest he should brush his forehead against the bunches of unripe grapes that hung down over the lintel. He passed through the little, dark hall, and entered the dwelling-room. There he found Hilsborn sitting with the schoolmaster upon one of the low, broad window-seats, while the schoolmaster's old wife, Brigitta, sat knitting upon the other. The schoolmaster was a spare, elderly man, with long gray hair, and eyes in whose uncertain depths that ominous white spot could be perceived that is the arch-enemy of light.
"Aha! the Herr Professor," said the old man, rising to greet Johannes. "We thought you had been enchanted in the Haunted Castle, and would never come back to us again."
"You may not have been so very far wrong," said Johannes, shaking the offered hand.
"Yes, you have kept us waiting well!" observed Hilsborn.
"Brigitta, dear, will you make ready for us? These gentlemen will perhaps do us the pleasure of sharing with us our mid-day meal,--it will be about the time for their luncheon," said the schoolmaster to his wife, who had arisen when Johannes entered, and was awaiting this hint to withdraw. Johannes and Hilsborn declined the proffered hospitality, but Frau Brigitta had already left the room. As the door closed behind her, the old man grew very grave. "Herr Professor," he began, and his voice was a little hoarse, and his hands trembled slightly, "now we are alone,--now I pray you tell me the truth. I would not ask you while my wife was here,--for I would spare her unhappiness as long as possible. But I must and will know, for the future of my son is at stake. Is it not true, Herr Professor, that you have no hope of saving my eyes?"
Hilsborn made no reply. His compassionate heart withheld him from so utterly destroying the old man's hopes in life. In his indecision, he exchanged a glance with Johannes, which the old man observed.
"Oh, my dear sir, that look, which I could see in spite of my increasing blindness, speaks to me as plainly as your silence. I have long had no hope myself. A year ago, when my eyes were so inflamed, I expected the catastrophe would occur from which your skill has so long saved me. The question now is--can my eyes be operated upon?"
Hilsborn hesitated again. He could not in honour delude the worthy man with false hopes only to have them so bitterly crushed in the future, and yet--who with a heart in his breast could tell the sad truth to that face of anxious inquiry? "I cannot give you a decided answer at present," he said at last with some effort.